One of the barons waved the offer away. “Just tell us what it says, Liam.”

Liam cleared his throat. “Recognizing that the fate of Sylvalan would have to be decided swiftly once the battle was won and that it would be better not to delay such discussion by waiting for those who would require days of travel to reach us here, Baron Padrick states that I have been granted a proxy vote—for all the western barons.”

Stunned silence.

Aiden made hurried notes. If his understanding was clear on the way the council worked, Liam’s vote counted for more than the rest of the men combined.

When no one made any comment, Liam folded the paper and set it aside. “Shall we begin?”

The door to the dining room opened. Aiden glanced up and dropped his quill, spattering ink all over the top sheet of paper. Pushing the paper aside, he retrieved the quill and dipped it in the ink pot.

“Oh, my,” Lyrra whispered.

Her hair was pinned up in a becoming fashion instead of scraped back in a tight knot, and her gown was as finely made as any gentry lady’s, but Aiden had no trouble recognizing Skelly’s sweet granny. And the way Breanna and Selena leaped to their feet when she entered the room made him very nervous.

“Grandmother,” Selena said.

The Crone smiled at Selena and Breanna. “Granddaughters.”

“Take my seat, Grandmother,” Breanna said, touching the back of her chair.

The Crone sat down and folded her hands in her lap. Her eyes touched every man in the room before they fixed on Liam. “The Crones have discussed what has happened in Sylvalan. Since I am the one who lives closest to this place, I have to come to tell you what has been decided.”

“Begging your pardon, Lady,” one of the barons said. “But it is up to the barons to decide what happens to the land owned by—”

“You do not own the land.” Her voice cut like a knife. “You have never owned the land. The Great Mother is held by her Sons and Daughters. It has always been so. It will always be so. We granted your people stewardship over portions of the land, giving you a place to live in your own way, just as we set aside portions of the land for the Fae and the Small Folk and the wild things of the world. Stewardship, Baron. Stewardship. You do not own the Mother.”

Aiden wrote frantically, part of him fearful of what she was going to say and another part hoping she wouldn’t object if he shaped those words into a song.

“This is what we have decided. The barons in the west, in the midlands, and in parts of the north, south, and east will retain stewardship of the lands they now hold. But the land that was held by the barons who followed the Inquisitors is forfeit. All of it.”